For my birthday, my college BFF/organization soulmate Vickie sent me an obscenely adorable Smythson notebook. I haven’t written in it yet, because I have not decided what would be worthy, but I am looking forward to it. That little bit of anticipation brings me waaaaay more joy than it should.
For whatever reason, I love notebooks.
I used to collect them in drawers, but lately I am trying to . . .well, use them, rather than just hoard my stash. Sometimes blank pages are just inspiring, and I’m glad for the little push to take note (ha?) of things I might otherwise just pass by. This week, I cracked open the spark notebook that I backed on Kickstarter last fall. By some magic, simply having a work-focused book to track all of the phone calls and minute details just made my call week less painful.
I’m not sure if it’s the act of writing or the finished product: being able to see my day neatly laid out in a series of checked-off boxes. But it works.